And That's When I Died
I LOVE going to work out. I became a really big fan of it after I took a weight-training class with my London chum, Steph, the semester after the "consumed so much British chocolate I gained 20 pounds" semester abroad. I really, really do like it. If I had my way, we would have a gym membership now (NOT with the evilness that is Gold's Gym of course). But, because we are trying to save money, we do not have a gym membership.
I am a fan of toning with weights, and using an elliptical. I am NOT a fan of running. Anywhere.
Today, after I came home from work, Chad and I went "running." HA! I about died! I am so out of shape; it is not even funny. We're going to start going a few times a week. There is this cute little park near our house, so we "jogged" there and back (with frequent "Chad, I can't . . . breathe. . . must walk . . ." moments along the way). The goal is to eventually be in good enough shape to make it to the park without passing out, so that we can then enjoy the nice jogging paths that meander amongst the tulip beds before returning home. Sounds pleasant, doesn't it? Wish me luck.
Tonight I devoured several OREOS for dessert. . .hmmmmm. . . something wrong with this picture?
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